


The Stars Won't Blink

by LadyDorian



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Kissing, M/M, Mitaka Week 2018, Starkiller Base, Unreliable Narrator, minor fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 15:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/pseuds/LadyDorian
Summary: Dopheld Mitaka had always considered himself an officer of the highest caliber: Never one to run, to hide, to relinquish his post, no matter how stressful the situation or how dire the circumstances. He knew his character well enough—his strengths and faults, his weaknesses.This wasn't desertion. It must have been something else.





	The Stars Won't Blink

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the sad reality that is Mitaka's canon death on Starkiller.
> 
> Some thanks:  
> To Obergurke, for the beta.  
> To Asher_Ephraim, also for the beta, and for letting me borrow your idea (and Thanisson's name).  
> To Hitaka5Ever, for Mitaka Week 2018.  
> To ithinkwehitametaphor, just because.  
> To all you beautiful Hitaka (and Mitaka) fans, for all your love and support. 
> 
> *Title taken from the song ["Lights Go Out" by RADWIMPS](https://youtu.be/Ei82BrYoGUI)*
> 
> Soundtrack available on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/ladydorian/the-stars-won-t-blink)
> 
> Now with gorgeous [artwork](https://backtothe80scolors.tumblr.com/post/177323674228/art-of-fanfic-the-stars-wont-blink-finalized) by [backtothe80scolors](https://backtothe80scolors.tumblr.com)!

_It's not desertion,_ he tells himself. Fifty meters per second, ten seconds too slow. While the ground shakes off each footstep, and the lights race by like stars streaking towards their demise _._

_ It’s not desertion. _

The taste of copper sticks to his tongue, but he isn't sure if it's nerves or something that had occurred when he'd crashed into the wall earlier, or perhaps the flavor of that word itself—oily, treasonous. An affront to his senses, and Dopheld feels them all too keenly now. There's the smell of sulfur in the air, the memory of red skies. The ache of his muscles, the burn in his lungs, the discordant echoes that refuse to stop ringing out their death knell, louder than the rending of durasteel:

_"Even Hux has abandoned us!"_

In his haste to avoid a shower of sparks, he collides with a stout officer who he immediately recognizes as Major Eisen, despite the terror in the man's eyes and the flush that stains his bearded cheeks an unnatural shade of red. Eisen shoves him away without a sound and keeps on running, leaving Dopheld to brave the current that swirls around him in flashes of white and gray. It only takes a moment to regain his footing; a moment to think, to plan. A moment to doubt.

Dopheld presses the side of his tongue against his teeth until he tastes fresh blood.

_He's—_

Another violent tremor knocks the lie from his head; a distant volley of explosions—three warning notes in quick succession—sends him careening back down his path with an almost cocky determination.

This was far from abandonment. Dopheld knows him— _his_  own faults and strengths better than anyone else.

From the moment he'd stepped onto  _Starkiller—_ no, long before the start of his tenure aboard the  _Finalizer,_ Dopheld had prided himself on being a model officer.

 

Long before the start of his tenure aboard the  _Finalizer_ , Dopheld had prided himself on being a model officer: Boots polished by hand each morning, uniform neatly assembled, hair combed and gelled to perfection beneath his standard-issue cap. He always arrived fifteen minutes early to his shift, and never left until he was confident his replacement had been fully briefed on the day's proceedings. When he wasn't formally on duty, he occupied himself with running laps in the gym, studying technical specifications or watching old recordings of inspirational speeches. And when he fell asleep at night, he did so with thoughts of praise and accomplishment drifting through his mind, their tune more soothing than any lullaby known to man.

There could be no question about it—from the crispness of his collar to the shining tips of his toes, the confidence of his walk to the precision with with he executed his tasks as weapons specialist—every decision Dopheld made, every word spoken or step taken had been done with the Order's best interest at heart. He would never dream of tarnishing its— _their_ —reputation by giving in to selfish acts, especially one so bold and reckless as openly flirting with a fellow officer, be it one of his peers or a superior.

Or the General of the First Order himself.

It had happened at a party of all places, in a room barely large enough to contain the excitement of a hundred or so officers eager to raise a glass to their newest conquest—a small, verdant planet by the name of Sileph, whose unassuming surface had been hiding a quantity of raw ore so abundant they'd initially thought their scanners had malfunctioned. At the end of the day, the planet's inhabitants had given them a fight worthy of celebration, but truth be told, Dopheld had only gone along to the event at the urging of Niall Thanisson, a fresh-faced new recruit desperate to rub elbows with some of the higher-ups but smart enough to know he wouldn't be able to gain admittance on his rank alone.

A bottle of bo'ura fruit schnapps had been a small asking price; Dopheld had felt little guilt accepting it, and even less after taking three shots in his quarters before departing. He wasn't cut out for conversation, not unless there were schematics involved, or reports to be discussed, strategies to be planned. Which was why it had come as a relief when, after about an hour, Thanisson had toned downed his fawning to focus on a pretty young ensign named Zenna, giving Dopheld the opportunity to slip away to somewhere he could breathe more freely, if only for a moment or two.

That was how he came to find himself standing at the viewport, nursing his second whiskey of the evening while he basked in the light from the planet beyond. No amount of transparisteel could dampen its radiance, and as Dopheld drew his eyes from one lovely turquoise point to the next, he felt a strange sort of submissive calmness fall into place around him, one sigh at a time.

He hadn't been keeping track of the minutes, the breaths, the small sips that lit a pleasant warmth in his throat, but it seemed only a few seconds had passed before he heard the noise of the crowd seep in, accompanied by the disappointing sound of someone stepping closer. With a grimace, he braced himself for more of Thanisson's wheedling.

"Lieutenant. Mind if I join you?"

His lips instantly curled into a smile again. He knew that voice; he could have recognized it from ten meters away in his sleep. "Not at all, Sir," he said, turning to welcome his companion. "I was just..."

The soft tincture of light that drifted through the viewport cast a glow over Hux's skin that would have put even the most brilliant of gems to shame. As he watched, Dopheld felt his cheeks start to heat up, though he doubted it had anything to do with the whiskey.

"...staring," he finished, almost too quietly.

But Hux only smiled. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Had he not tipped his gaze to the planet below, Dopheld might have believed he'd meant it about himself. "Oh." His eyes followed Hux's back to the viewport. "I reckon it is, Sir."

"Just think of what we can accomplish with such a wealth of resources at our fingertips," Hux continued. "Stronger fuel cells. More powerful weapons—" Dopheld heard him pause here and—unable to resist—threw a glance over at his reflection, in time to see him lower his cup and lick his plush lips clean. A twinkling star seemed to hang from the bottom curve, and Dopheld pictured himself reaching out and sweeping it away with his thumb, as if a silly thought like that were at all possible in the grand and scientific scheme of things.

He was leering so embarrassingly hard, he hadn't noticed that Hux had begun speaking again.

"—mpenetrable and lightning fast. When you look at it from that angle, it makes the view all the more breathtaking, wouldn't you agree?"

Dopheld hummed a half-hearted response. It truly  _was_ gorgeous. But not this view, and not for reasons Hux had in mind.

A quiet laugh drew him back to himself.

"Oh, come now, Lieutenant, you've played an integral part in this; I think you've earned the right to gloat over your achievements."

"I—" His throat was too dry, saliva trickling down it like broken glass.

"Too modest, then?" Hux pressed. "Or are you merely speechless?"

There were a lot of words fit to describe him in that moment: Inebriated, irresponsible, downright  _stupid._ If only speechless had been one of them. "I was just thinking…"

His better judgment warned him to leave it be, but the sly side of his conscience—goaded by too much liquor and too little regard for the consequences—cozied up beside his ear and whispered it was only proper that he be honest with his superiors.

With twitching fingers, he brought his drink to his lips and knocked back the last of it.

"It reminds me of your eyes, Sir."

At this Hux gave another laugh, short and indecipherable. "In need of a good night's rest?"

"The color," Dopheld explained calmly. "Light green with a hint of bluish-gray around the edges. Shining brightly as though too proud to blink."

Hux chuckled louder, though it was neither cruel nor contemptuous. "And I assume you know this because you've spent some time observing them?"

Slowly, Dopheld turned from the pale reflection to the flesh-and-blood man standing beside him.  "Every chance that I can." A shy smile played across his lips and he shook his head, half in disbelief and half in apology. "That is—I don't mean to be rude, Sir, but they're impossible not to notice."

Impossible couldn't have been a more perfect description; the very second Hux tilted his head, Dopheld caught the crinkle in their corners, the glimmers of light that danced across them like bombs exploding in the sky. "Why, Lieutenant Mitaka…" His name rolled off of Hux's tongue in a low, unctuous tone. "I'd say you seem quite smitten with me."

During his first combat exercise, when he was just eight years old, Dopheld had wet himself in front of his entire class and two of the Academy's most prestigious instructors. This was by far much worse.

His stomach felt as if it had been yanked through his throat and bound to his tongue with a knot of intestine. "I—Sir—it's not—what I meant was—"

_"Do_  tell, what else have you noticed about me?" Hux prodded with a smirk. "My hair? My lips?" He kept them parted a fraction while he drew in a breath, his voice softening to a suggestive murmur. "Or perhaps something… less innocent?"

Dopheld's eyes widened. "N-no, Sir! I would never—" Punching himself in the face wasn't an option, so instead he chose to hide it behind the rim of his cup, only to realize—with a deeper shade of embarrassment—that he'd already emptied its contents. Desperate to maintain the illusion, he tried to coax the last drop out with his tongue, like scraping the bottom of his wits for a viable excuse to free himself from this mess.  _He'd heard Thanisson calling for him. There were reports to be reviewed before his shift. One of the hors d'oeuvres wasn't agreeing with him. His beloved aunt had suddenly passed away._

By the time he lowered his arm again, he was nowhere closer to an answer, and even further from prepared for the heavy-lidded stare that accosted him. He swallowed, forced the dread way down into his boots. "I—I should probably—"

Whatever cheap trick he'd planned to follow it with was instantly forgotten once Hux reached over and plucked the cup from his grasp. Fingers still trembling from their split-second of contact, Dopheld barely registered the warm air crowding his space, the soft, almost sultry whisper:

"Come with me, Lieutenant."

And then Hux was striding across the room, greatcoat swishing gracefully as he deposited their empty drinks on a nearby table and cut a clean path towards the exit. One of the other guests tipped his head to him in passing, mouthed something of a greeting, but the General didn't so much as raise a hand in acknowledgement. He simply walked out the door.

Though his thoughts had been spinning at the time, Dopheld later came to realize how stupid he must have looked, standing there with his mouth agape and his arm locked in front of his chest, clutching at the empty space that had once held his beverage. Maybe that had been the reason why, when he weaved through the crowd with his head tucked low, he couldn't shake the feeling that all eyes were watching him.

 

It took approximately seven minutes to reach the deserted service corridor on level Peth and only thirty seconds for Dopheld to rethink every decision he'd ever made in his life. Duty kept him moving forward, but fear held him back several paces, each circuit board passed, each length of pipework counting down the span of his existence.

There was a persistent rumor amongst the crew that Hux kept a monomolecular blade hidden up his sleeve at all times, and as Dopheld's gaze danced from the beacon of orange hair to the impenetrable walls around them, he couldn't help but wonder which access panel the General would choose as a resting place for his corpse. Or perhaps he would just leave him out in the open for some poor technician to find. That is, if anyone had been looking.

The echo of their footsteps was maddening, the urge to break it with words—questions, pleas, any gurgle of sound he could manage—a risk Dopheld hesitantly assumed he might be willing to take. But before he had the chance to even clear his throat, Hux veered left down another passageway, a tunnel so dark and narrow it made the previous one seem like a palace.

This was better, in a way; if Dopheld was going to die tonight, he'd rather it happen here, in cramped quarters. At least it was more personal than being spaced, and far less degrading than a public execution—small consolations that only made his brain howl with mocking laughter.

It ceased the moment Hux came to a halt.

By now Dopheld's heart was thundering in his ears, his throat clenched, teeth chattering restlessly, too willful to know when to give up.

"Ge-General,  _please_ let me _—"_

_"Shh!"_ Hux lifted a hand to silence him, scanning the ceiling from side to side as though seeking out one of the ship's multitude of security cameras. Or maybe he'd simply wanted to give Dopheld further reason to suffocate himself, as if that were a particularly difficult task to accomplish. He was already somewhat lightheaded when Hux suddenly spun on his heels and strode towards him, eyes burning with a fire Dopheld hadn't seen outside of battle.

His gaze immediately shot to the cuff of Hux's sleeve. "S-S-Sir! Wait, p-please—Sir!" Palms held up in useless defense, he stumbled back against the wall, closed his eyes and braced himself for the killing blow.

What he felt instead was the smooth brush of leather over his cheek, warmth blooming on his skin, the shock of another pair of lips crashing into his own. Separate parts colliding all at once, in a huge, wonderful bang.

The collar of Hux's greatcoat crumpled like paper between his fingers.

He'd been drinking brandy; Dopheld could taste as much when he slid his tongue into the General's mouth, sweetness dripping from the folds of his lips as he sucked and nibbled on them. Gently at first. Then harder.  _Faster._ Until he was gasping for air.

He took in what little oxygen he could when Hux drew back, lost it all again once those lips dove beneath his jaw and pursed around a sensitive little patch of flesh. The heat of it made him shiver, the pressure had him moaning and rocking his hips until Hux gripped him by the waist and gave him a generous helping of what he'd wanted. Caught against the friction, their metal buckles scraped loudly; Dopheld squeezed his hands between their bodies under the pretense of stilling them, fingers creeping below the taut band of Hux's belt as discreetly as possible. Trembling, he thumbed at the clasp and listened for that telltale  _click_.

But the sound never came, no matter how clearly Dopheld heard it inside his head. Even the skin on his wrist seemed to tingle with disappointment as Hux clasped his palm around it and lifted it from his belt with a firm but gentle squeeze. Dragging his teeth along Dopheld's jaw, he nipped his way to his mouth again, gave his bottom lip a good tug before tracing the pad of his thumb across the two—a slow, tempting journey that ended at the small mole nearest the corner.

"Let's pick this up some other time." He said, eyes glassy, lips flushed and damp. "When both of us are sober."

"Yes,  _Sir,"_ Dopheld sighed with shameful enthusiasm. He pecked at the tip of Hux's glove as it departed his lips.  _"Please."_

Hux smiled at him then, warm and sincere, and suddenly Dopheld was overcome with the urge to bite back, to devour it. Teetering, he began to push himself onto his toes, but it was Hux who closed the distance between them, his face turned so that Dopheld's kiss sadly missed its mark.

"Count to one hundred and then leave," he whispered, the heat of his message ghosting over Dopheld's ear. "I promise I'll be in touch."

Dopheld was so preoccupied with nuzzling against his cheek, he completely forgot that his one hand was still wrapped around Hux's belt. He released his hold right as Hux pulled away and started walking back towards the main hall. Opening and closing his fist to shake off the prickling sting of embarrassment, Dopheld let his arms fall to his sides and his body sag against the wall behind him. Each attempt to move his neck was met with paralyzing tension, so he followed Hux's retreat with his ears instead, muted taps eventually fading into the distance, until all he could hear was the shudder of his own breath, and the scrambled thoughts that kicked around inside his brain.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, began counting:

_One._

The taste of Hux's tongue.

_Two._

The smell of brandy on his breath.

_Three._

Firm hands on his body.

_Four._

The hard press of his—

He made it to eighteen before giving up, though the exercise had done absolutely nothing to calm the pounding in his chest, or distract from the ache that clutched at his groin with its haughty sense of entitlement.

Dopheld swallowed another gulp of air, then slowly brought his hand to his neck, two fingertips touching the spot where the General's mouth had been.

_Kriff,_ what had he done?

 

He did an admirable job of avoiding Hux after that.

Though his position as bridge officer all but guaranteed some level of interaction between the two of them, thankfully their conversations remained as brief and formal as usual: A status report here, an order to prep the cannons there. Assemblies were too public for chance, conferences too strict, and with the General's attention in such high demand, Dopheld found it increasingly easy to escape his orbit and vanish amongst the rest of the crew. By the fourth cycle, the mark on his neck had begun to fade. At six, the meals in his quarters seemed less constricting. And after a week-and-a-half, Dopheld felt comfortable enough to leave his comm turned on at night, though he'd never truly believed Hux would risk contacting him in secret on an unsecured channel. Besides, if he'd truly wanted, he could have easily found a way to order Dopheld into his office; there were no shortages of mouths on board fit to deliver such an unremarkable message.

But despite preparing himself for it, the call never came. Two weeks slipped by without a sign, another four days. It was as if Hux had simply forgotten.

Dopheld would have given anything to say the same.

Working hours didn't pose as much of an obstacle—there were always distractions within reach, tasks to be completed, more laps to be run. It was when the lights were out and the silence draped in sheets around him that Dopheld's mind wandered back to that night, too stubborn to be put off by the meager bottle of sedatives the medstaff had issued him.

It had been his fault for allowing himself to entertain the thought in the first place. His problem to solve. His punishment.

Three fingers in his mouth weren't enough; they didn't have the feel, the taste, the texture of what he'd imagined Hux's cock to be like. They couldn't fill him up the way they used to, not after he'd gotten a glimpse of what could have been.

_Stars,_ the things he might have done to him then, had Hux not put a stop to it. What a fine time for his common sense to choose to step out for the evening.

When drowsiness finally overtook him, and he slipped his guilty hands beneath his pillow, Dopheld swore he could still feel Hux's belt against his fingertips, waiting patiently for him to make his next great mistake.

 

He'd been careless to think it was a good idea to double up on his dose of sleep aids. Stupider still for believing that downing three cups of caf in the officer's mess before his shift would somehow counterbalance the fatigue that hung from his every muscle. So far the only rewards his decision had netted him were a headache and a full bladder, and not a chance in eight hells of making it back to his private refresher in time.

It was Rodinon who'd graciously pointed out—around a mouthful of toast—that there was a public facility only a short walk from the bridge; it was the knot in his stomach that reminded him it was equally as close to the General's office.

"Looks like you won't be pissing your pants today, Doph," Rodinon had said, before asking if he could finish the rest of Dopheld's eggs.

As he shuffled off with his annoyance in tow, Dopheld wondered if he should have left a side of spit on his plate.

He arrived quickly, and had just settled in to relieve himself when he heard the door to the 'fresher open again, followed by the expected tap of footsteps crossing the tiled floor. One set, nothing special or out of place. It hardly bore reminding that there were other men aboard ship who had the same biological functions. And yet, he still felt a pinch of apprehension creep into his shoulders. Fear poked at his brain, bravado clashed with the instinct to turn his head towards the sound that had quickly grown too close for comfort. It faded into a soft rustle at the urinal adjacent to his, and suddenly Dopheld didn't need to look up anymore. He just  _knew._

"You've been running from me, Lieutenant."

The second syllable hadn't left his mouth before Dopheld's heart began to pound uncontrollably, every beat a new question, another  _What? Why? How_  had Hux so casually managed to corner him  _here_  of all places? Where escape boiled down to nothing short of walking out mid-stream with his trousers open and dick in hand, and despite how much Rodinon would have loved that, Dopheld was neither dumb nor impudent enough to attempt such an affront on human decency. Even if a small part of his mind was currently speculating how he might steal a peek at Hux's crotch without it seeming too obvious.

Disgusted with himself, Dopheld blinked the thought away. "I'm not—"

_No._ He couldn't do this any longer. He was too tired of it, too sick of feeling like he was treading on eggshells through his own home. Too perceptive to know that whatever Hux was planning, it wasn't going to end well.

"I haven't been running, Sir," he replied to his reflection, lies warping across polished metal. "I've been busy is all."

Hux let out a quiet laugh as he tended to his own needs. "Well, you certainly had me fooled. You were so keen to flee yesterday's strategy briefing, you almost left your datapad behind. Datoo had to shout after you."

"I—" He caught himself fumbling again, steadied his nerves with a deep breath. "I apologize for my temporary lapse in attention," he recovered—dry, composed. Bitterly calm. "As I said, Sir, I've been preoccupied with things as of late."

"Do you regret what we did?"

Dopheld whipped his head around so fast, his poor neck popped in protest. _"Sir_ —" Hux hadn't even  _tried_  to lower his voice; Dopheld could still feel its vibration pulsing through his veins as he frantically scanned the line of stalls to their left, though each was as empty as it had been when he'd first walked in. "We were drunk, Sir," he hissed back. "It couldn't have been helped." He didn't waste any time shaking off but immediately tucked himself away, fixing his uniform while he walked to the sink.

Behind him, he heard Hux call out, "You didn't answer my question, Mitaka."

No stream of water could have been cold enough to shock the indifference from his tone. "And just how am I supposed to answer, Sir?"

It seemed only a moment had passed, but when he turned off the tap and looked up at his reflection in the mirror, Hux was there at his side again, his eyes too soft to be forgiven. "Truthfully."

Dopheld could hear his voice trembling over the noise of the auto-dryer as he spoke. "Then perhaps I shouldn't say anything at all." He couldn't stand to think, didn't want to risk glancing into Hux's eyes again, so he busied himself with putting his gloves back on, kept his sanity in check by swaddling his brain in promises that the worst was over. But his hands were shaking so much that by the time he'd wrangled on the first and moved to the second, the button had become a boulder, and the hole the size of a pinhead. Again, he tried to close it, and again he slipped, a silly battle that persisted until Hux reached over and delicately finished the task himself. His skin was still damp, and when he lifted his fingers away, they left shimmering marks on the leather that Dopheld couldn't help but stare at in breathless awe.

The only thing that managed to break his reverie was the careful press of a command cylinder to his open palm. Confused, he turned to Hux.

"I plan to be in my quarters by 1900 tonight," Hux said. "I don't want you to feel obligated to accept my offer, but I sincerely hope you might consider it." His lips pursed slightly, and it occurred to Dopheld, with a pang of uninvited longing, that if Hux had wanted to kiss him then, all he would have needed to do was slide forward an inch.

It came as both a surprise and a disappointment when Hux simply nodded and said, "I'll see you on the bridge, Lieutenant."

He was gone before Dopheld had a chance to process what had happened—a flash of black across the mirror, a hazy voice chiming, "Good morning Colonel Bryce."

"Good morning, General."

Quickly, Dopheld stuffed the cylinder into his tunic pocket, mere seconds before Colonel Bryce stepped into frame. As he passed behind him, the Colonel shot Dopheld the same steel-cut look of contempt that he reserved for all junior officers, but otherwise kept quiet. Apparently he had found nothing odd about a Lieutenant staring at himself in the mirror like a moth caught in a spotlight. Or he didn't care. Either worked for Dopheld.

The command cylinder burned hot against his grip, beckoning a decision. Glaring at the pallid face before him, Dopheld squeezed Hux's gift tighter, knowing deep inside that he'd already made his choice.

 

 

_It's not cowardice,_  he reasons. Just a stroke of bad luck that had him stumbling into the nearest conference room, fingers pounding in the lock code before the door had even shut. He couldn't have possibly known the gangplank some twenty levels up would come tumbling down the minute he rounded that corner. One end over the other, like it had been practicing its somersaults.

_A moment sooner and..._

He can still picture it through the stifling red of the auxiliary lights

_Five seconds..._

the muffled screams

_He could have made it..._

rumbling quakes that rain dust and debris over every surface.

_But where?_

Eyes stinging with grit, Dopheld thumbs the communicator in his pocket.

When his legs stop aching, he'll stand again. Shake the dirt from his clothes, find another path to take. He'd lost his cap somewhere along the way—a reality he'd been forced to accept after he caught himself reaching for it a third time—but it doesn't matter. He doubts anyone will be looking to scold him for it.

As for the conference table...well, that was a bigger shame. Worth more credits than every hat in the fleet, yet its tempered display crackles as readily as ice. And maybe it's the juddering of the wall against his back, or the whiplash turning his brain to mush, but Dopheld thinks he may have been here before. It was in a room like this where he'd delivered his first report after being transferred to the base. Where he'd been given a role to play, an importance to carry.

And where Hux had shown just how little he cared for professionalism.

He liked to sit across from him, so he could throw suggestive glances in Dopheld's direction whenever he caught him looking up from his datapad. Little smirks and smiles between sentences, the occasional, certainly un-innocent way his lips would fold around the word  _Lieutenant—_ each movement a reminder, a  _promise_  that wherever Dopheld went, the memory of what they'd done would stay with him.

No matter where he looked, those eyes were always watching.

 

No matter where he looked, those eyes were always watching: Crystal clear and sharp as glass under his skin—impossible to extract without tearing a pound of flesh along with it, and Dopheld had already passed too many sleepless nights debating which piece of himself he'd be willing to relinquish; he didn't want to waste another minute on an answer that should have been obvious.

_That_  was a half-truth, three-quarters maybe, if one could measure such things. For all his reservations, Dopheld never seemed to mind the time he'd lost bent double over the sofa, tied to the legs of the supper table, or pinned down on the mattress as Hux crawled atop him with a sly grin and an  _"I've got a treat for you tonight, Dopheld."_

The sound of his name still rang clear, the feel of the rubber plug kissed his fingertips, though they were far from Hux's arse, currently buried in a place just as enticing.

With a sigh, he pushed the memory away and, twisting his neck a bit, made a poor attempt to shake the stray locks of hair from his forehead. "Ah...Sir…"

He didn't need to say it to get Hux's attention; the General had been casting glances at him the entire time he was knelt there, determined to watch Dopheld fall apart as he tried to swallow him whole. A fine mist of water droplets speckled his face, and when he finally did close his eyes—to take him even deeper—his lashes glistened like polished gold.

Tightening his fingers in Hux's hair, he gingerly rocked back and forth, one last grasp at enjoyment before his tongue found the strength to speak:

"Sir…do you think we should...maybe put an end to things?"

Hux snorted a laugh as he drew back. "That's an odd thought to have while your cock is in someone's mouth. Twitching, no less." He dragged his smirk over the tip of Dopheld's crown to illustrate, then delved lower, suckling at that sensitive little spot just beneath that never failed to drive Dopheld wild.

"It's just—I— _oh, pfassk…"_ Dopheld bit down hard on his bottom lip, but it was no match for the needy little whimper that crawled out of his throat. He'd never stood a chance anyway, not when Hux was wrapping his lips around him again, humming as he hollowed his cheeks and slowly worked him over. The vibration alone made Dopheld's knees shake, but it was the hunger in Hux's eyes that ultimately stripped his thoughts bare. Head resting against the shower tile, Dopheld gazed up at the ceiling lights until he saw the words dance across his vision in flashing dots.

"It's just that," he started over, "I've noticed some of the crew has been acting strange lately." His fingers curled, unsure if they should push Hux away or pull him closer. "I think—I think they know. About us."

Hux's reluctance to so much as pause for a second told him he either hadn't heard or simply didn't care; he was too busy clutching at Dopheld's thighs and flicking his tongue over his slit to be bothered to respond.

Dopheld squirmed awkwardly as he fought to get his point across. "Just yesterday at lunch, Petty Officer Thanisson scowled at me when I asked him to pass the salt. And—and later, in the gymnasium, Lieutenant Rodinon made a crass comment about— _pfassk_ , I'd rather not repeat it."

While he was still rambling on, Hux had managed to slip a hand between his legs to toy with his balls, squeezing them gently and rolling them around in his palm, as if he had peered into Dopheld's mind and seen exactly what Rodinon had said about them—hot wax kit notwithstanding.

Dopheld swallowed hard. "E-Even Lo—"

An unexpected shudder clipped him mid-sentence, though Dopheld couldn't tell if it was from the shock of the memory alone or the finger that had worked its way behind his sac and was presently sliding in between his cheeks, tickling his puckered hole with feather-light strokes. Either was sufficient enough to leave him breathless.

"Even Lord Ren turned to—to stare at me when we passed in the hall," he gasped. "I-I couldn't be sure, with the mask and all, but—"

_Now,_ Hux pulled away completely, eyes narrowing as he stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Really, Dopheld, you have no idea how much of a turn-off it is to hear you bring other men's names into the bedroom. Especially  _his."_

If Dopheld had a sharper tongue, he'd have pointed out that they were in the shower at the moment, wasting a coveted amount of water, no less. But after the sudden loss of Hux's... _talents_ …the best he could offer was a slight shiver and a pathetic cry of "But, Sir—"

_"Shh…"_ Slipping his fingers beneath Dopheld's jaw, Hux leaned in and kissed him softly, tilted his chin up as they parted, so Dopheld couldn't look away. "Let them think what they want. Perhaps it will serve as further reminder of my status within the Order."

Dopheld frowned. "I think it's  _because_  of your status, Sir, that they're talking."

But Hux's smile was unbreakable. "Then they're wasting their time. If I wish to fraternize with a subordinate, I am well and beyond entitled to do so."

"Yes, but—as General, shouldn't you set an example for—"

"Dopheld, you still want this, don't you?"

Something in the way he'd said it made Dopheld's heart skip a beat, sent his arguments falling to the floor in bits and pieces. "Of—Of course I do, Sir."

"Then moan for me," Hux purred. "Tell me how good it feels. Call out my name. I know you're more than capable of speaking it." With a quiet chuckle, he reached up and swept a strand of hair behind Dopheld's ear, his fingers warm and reassuring as they gently trailed down the side of his neck. "You don't need to be afraid," he said, planting small kisses along his cheek. "You're mine, Dopheld. I won't let anyone or anything take you from me."

Dopheld drew in a sharp breath and slid his arms around Hux's waist.  _"Mmm..._ Armitage.  _Please."_

With Hux, there was no need to say anything else; before Dopheld turned his head, those lips were on his jaw, tongue flicking teasingly over his mole. Making him cry out, just as he'd wanted. As he reached his neck, Dopheld's thoughts faded to a whisper below the shower. By the time his nails scraped their claim down his back, he'd already let himself melt into his embrace. And when Hux finally sought out his mouth again, Dopheld cupped his hands around his face and pulled him in so tightly he forgot everything.

It was no great loss, he supposed, as their slick bodies fell into that familiar rhythm. After all had been said and done, there would be more than enough time to remember. There always was.

 

 

_It's not foolishness,_ he insists. On his knees in supplication, begging for Hux's life, begging for his own. No response but the sound of the world collapsing.

"Sir! Come in, Sir!"

He waits a moment. Hits the button again.

"SIR!"

Louder, as though shouting will get his message through.

_"Come in!"_

Doesn't stop until his thumb burns from the pressure, and hot tears stream down his dust-scraped cheeks.

"Please…"

_Nothing_.

Slowly, Dopheld lowers the comm to his lap. Clutches it so hard in his hand, he thinks either of them might break.

_It had all come to nothing._ Only memories of words and touches, lies that had kept him moving forwards, backwards. Spinning in circles.

How could he have meant  _anything_ to Hux when he was merely another insignificant speck in the universe? Stars were born and died, and their ripples felt across the very edges of the galaxy. But Dopheld, he was nothing to be mourned; the world would go on as it had always done, without so much as batting an eye.

There was no choice but to embrace it.

His thumb slams into the button.

"Armitage! Please respond!"

_"...el...ar...ere..."_

Eyes blurred with tears, Dopheld stares at the communicator. He'd heard it: A crackle of static, a voice breaking through the thunder around him. An impossibility.

_"...Do...eld...come in…"_

Longer, clearer. Too vivid to be an illusion.

_"Dopheld...hear me? Dopheld, come in...Dopheld... **Phel…**_ "

 

"Phel…may I ask you something?"

Dopheld stopped counting the ceiling tiles long enough to cast a glance to his right, where Hux was lying with his cheek half-buried in the pillow and his eyes weighted with a curious look. "Of course, Sir," he said, turning onto his side. "Ask me anything you'd like." He tried not to dwell on why Hux had thought he might have needed permission to begin with.

"Recently, I found myself wondering… that is..." A moment passed where his gaze drifted from Dopheld's face, only to swerve back again, clearer and calmer than before. "Once Starkiller is complete, and we've finally undone the damage caused by the New Republic, do you think you might want to make our relationship more official?"

Dopheld's lips trembled at the implication. This wasn't right; Hux didn't mince words, not when there was something he wanted. It had always been  _"Eat supper with me, Dopheld,"_  or  _"Spread your legs wider, Dopheld," "Let me reassign your quarters, Dopheld. You sleep here enough as it is."_

Hiding his worries behind a smile, Dopheld replied, "Sir, you...almost sound like you're asking for my hand in marriage."

"I am."

The sheets suddenly turned to ice against his skin.

"It wouldn't have to be a big ceremony," Hux went on with a laugh. "Just the two of us, maybe Phasma and Captain Opan as witnesses. Or we could do it on the parade grounds in front of the entire assembly, if that's to your liking. After all, you would be marrying the potential future ruler of the galaxy."

The future ruler of the galaxy. How many would have given their lives for just a shot at aligning themselves with such royalty? How many already had?

He bit the inside of his cheek until the urge to shout faded, and the pain that stung his eyes became a little more bearable.

"Why me, Sir?"

Hux scoffed at the question. "Why not? Is there something wrong with wanting the man I love to stand beside me as my equal?" He spoke as though the answer should have been clear, yet Dopheld couldn't help but notice how his hands seemed to twitch and curl, fingers folding the edge of the pillowcase into a sharp point that he flicked his thumb over continually. "You could be my consort," he encouraged, "my advisor, my confidant. You could achieve so much more than simply squandering your talents on the bridge."

"But… I like working on the bridge," was all he could think to say: Stupid, yet poignant enough to make Hux's smile quiver at the corners.

"Well. It was just a suggestion. We'll have time to think about it." With a parting hum, he tugged the blanket up to his neck and turned to face the opposite side of the bed, and though his voice was soft, and his irritation muffled beneath thick fabric, Dopheld heard it like it had been whispered into his ear: "Eleven months  _is_  a bit early to be making a decision."

_Eleven months_.

Hux shifted around, pulled the blanket tighter. "Lights, zero percent."

It would have been nice, Dopheld thought, to count the tiles again, or the stars outside the viewport, the crown that glowed above Hux's silhouette. But he couldn't get those two words out of his mind.

_Eleven months._

Was that how long it had been? It had felt like eleven  _years_  to him, and there Hux was, asking for eleven more, one-hundred-and-eleven, as many as they had to give each other. Saying things that didn't make sense. That Dopheld couldn't have comprehended no matter how hard he tried.

It wasn't fair; Hux had always made it look so easy.

"Lights, fifty percent."

Hux spun around as the lights burst back to life, groaning an exasperated  _"Phel_ — _"_

"Armitage."

His face softened at once, hand trembling when Dopheld reached out and ran his fingers over the knuckles.

"I think I would like to marry you."

Hux's mouth hung open for a second before breaking into a wild grin.

_"Kriff,_ Phel. You—" Laughing, he shook his head. "You're going to drive me mad, you gorgeous son-of-a-bitch."

"Hmm… some might consider that a defensive maneuver," Dopheld beamed back.

Taking Dopheld's hand in his, Hux brought it to his lips and anointed it with a tender kiss. "I love it when you smile, Phel," he said. "Will you do it at our wedding?"

Dopheld gazed into Hux's eyes until he could see it for himself, bright as the stars outside. He shuffled closer, nuzzling the soft curve of Hux's cheek. "For the future ruler of the galaxy? Perhaps I might be convinced."

 

 

_It's not the end,_ he sobs. Choking on phlegm and dirt, desperation. Words that hadn't formed yet, no more than spittle on the mouthpiece of his comm unit.

_"Phel! Phel, are you there? Please tell me you're alright."_

He is. And he isn't. He doesn't know anything anymore, except that he wants to pull Hux to his chest, to feel his voice, his fears. To shield them from the tears that threaten to wash it all away.

_"Phel!"_

_"Yes!"_ He rushes to respond. "I-I'm here, Sir, I'm—" His hands quiver in denial. "I'm alright."

_"Oh, thank the Maker."_ Hux sighs.  _"Did you make it outside safely?"_

He shakes his head, despite knowing Hux can't see it. "I'm still on base. In one of the conference rooms. Are—Are you—"

_"Yes. I'm in the shuttle now, near the forest. We haven't left the atmosphere yet. I—"_  Hux pauses. _"I was ordered to pick up Ren first. But I'm coming back for you. Can you get to one of the hangars?"_

"I—I don't think so." Had Dopheld even considered that? When he'd first shot through the halls with a vague plan and an even hazier destination?

He'd only been thinking of Hux. Of seeing him again—at least  _hearing_ him, if nothing else. Knowing he was still out there, thinking of him.

Whatever happened next didn't matter.

"Sir—"

_"Stay calm, Dopheld,"_ Hux urges him, though his tone is anything but.  _"I'm pulling up Starkiller's schematics right now. We'll find a way out for you. Just—just give me a moment…"_

One moment. Hux safely aboard his shuttle, speeding towards the wreckage at fifty meters per second. Ten seconds too slow. The truth inescapable. As it had always been.

"Sir…" Dopheld says quietly. "You have to leave me."

He can almost hear the disgust on Hux's face.  _"Absolutely not. I won't lose you."_

"Sir, you have to!" Outside, a blood-curdling screech howls through the hallway—inhuman, as if Starkiller itself were screaming out in pain. "The base is unstable. It's collapsing too fast—"

_"No! I can make it, Phel. I just need to—"_

Another voice, fuzzy and filtered like that of a Stormtrooper, reaches above him:

_"General, we need to move n_ —"

_"WE ARE NOT LEAVING UNTIL I GIVE THE ORDER!"_

"Armitage...please…" A larger chunk of ceiling falls not three meters from him, sending Dopheld scrambling on all fours in the opposite direction. He fumbles for the communicator, brings it right up to his lips. "Just  _GO!"_

_"We'll find a way,"_ Hux replies, so hopeful it hurts.  _"There's still time."_

"I—"

He can't. He'd given up on trying to wipe the tears from his eyes for some time now.

"I'm sorry, Armitage," he whispers.

_"Dopheld, don't—"_

"Please, Armitage, just listen to me. I need you to."

The line goes quiet. Then, Hux says, "Alright. I'm listening, Phel."

Carefully, Dopheld pushes himself up so he's sitting with his back to the wall again, legs splayed out in front of him, useless for all the times he'd tried to walk away. From him. From them. What he'd wanted. What he couldn't accept. What he could never change.

Too late.

"I'm sorry," he gasps. "I—I never allowed myself to tell you how much I loved you. There were so many times I could have said it. The night of the party. Our first meal together. That time—" His words tangle into a sob. "That time you asked me to hold you because you were cold. And when I woke up the next morning, your arms were still there, wrapped around my neck. I—" He sniffles. "I was so happy but so unbearably afraid. Of losing everything I'd worked my entire life to achieve—this person I thought I wanted to become. But I only ever wanted you, Armitage. So please—Please forgive me."

Dopheld holds his breath for a response. But the line is deathly silent.

"Armitage?" He tries the communicator again. Waits for a sound that doesn't come. Shakes it, cries helplessly.  _"Armitage?"_

_"I meant everything I said, you know,"_ Hux answers softly, after an excruciating pause.  _"About marrying you. Making you my consort."_

Dopheld smiles in spite of himself. "I know."

_"I would have taken you anywhere you liked for our honeymoon."_

"You'd have taken me back to the bridge so we could both work double shifts."

Together, they chuckle at his joke, though Hux's amusement seems to fade quickly.  _"Kriff, how did this happen? We were so close."_

"There will be more weapons like Starkiller," Dopheld replies. "More chances to succeed."

_"No, I was talking about us."_

Dopheld stares ahead at nothing in particular, flashes of what they were long gone, pearls of what they could have been rolling down his cheeks. "I don't know," he says. "If anything, I always thought I would die by your side."

In the background, he hears Hux weeping quietly.  _"And now you're making me live without you. Phel, I can't—"_

"You will. I know you will."

The line starts to crackle again.

_"I love you Phel,"_ Hux breathes.  _"Until the day I die, I'll always love you."_

Once more, Dopheld finds himself smiling through his tears. "So will I. Thank you for everything, Armitage."

A wave of static answers his call, then the channel shuts off completely. Its purpose fulfilled, he tosses the communicator aside and waits with his eyes closed, hands turned upwards in his lap. Empty, alone.

Except, he isn't. Hux is still there with him, his face in his mind, voice in his ears, every smile they'd ever shared, every kiss goodnight, hello.

_"I'm so glad you accepted my invitation, Mitaka. May I call you 'Dopheld'?"_

Wrapped around him, warm like a morning shower.

_"Pfassk, you look so gorgeous when you're wet. I can't keep my hands off you."_

A promise to stand by him.

_"I think I'd prefer something gold. Slim, so it will fit comfortably under our gloves."_

To stay with him.

_"Until the day I die, I'll always love you."_

To never let go.

As everything around him crumbles, Dopheld peers down into his open palms and sees another pair of hands in his, one pale finger glittering with a golden band. Smiling, he curls his fingers around them, closes his eyes again and takes what he accepts as his final breath.

For Armitage.

 

 

_"What's wrong, Dopheld? You'll never get the wrinkles out of your forehead if you keep frowning at me like that."_

_"You're shivering, Sir. Are you cold?"_

_"Maybe. A little."_

_"Should I fetch another blanket?"_

_"No. Just come closer."_

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic months ago in hopes of posting it for a Hitaka week or something similar. Thanks for giving me the opportunity. Happy Mitaka Week 2018.


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